


Winter Rest

by withinmelove



Series: Home is Kaer Morhen [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute Ending, F/M, Gen, Hypothermia, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Morning Cuddles, No Sex, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:00:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26335291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withinmelove/pseuds/withinmelove
Summary: Geralt invites Jaskier to spend the winter with him at Kaer Morhen.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Home is Kaer Morhen [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930036
Comments: 22
Kudos: 264
Collections: Discord Community Archive





	Winter Rest

**Author's Note:**

> Why is it so hard to think of tags for this fic? Besides that gripe please do enjoy this fic! It was fun to write that all the Witchers hibernate together. I needed an excuse as well to write Geralt and Jaskier cuddling. Geralt is a lot more easygoing in this fic because I wanted to write him that way quite frankly.
> 
> Edit: 9/19/2020: The lovely Dai made this cover for my fic! Thank you so much <3 The thoughtfulness of the gesture makes my heart warm.  
> Here is the credit to the original photo used: https://unsplash.com/photos/5p_hbvdcEvo  
> Here is Dai's pillowfort: https://www.pillowfort.social/bookscorpion

It is a well-known fact that Witchers are a dying breed. What is not well-known is that Witchers hibernate together out of protection and companionship. There are Witchers that choose to stay alone; who see disaster in bunching up together in one place in particular, where the slaughter of so many happened. However, by and far the rest of them gather in Kaer Morhen like a pack of wolves coming back together.

Geralt admits to himself returning to Kaer Morhen is soothing in that he is among his kind, where no one will hold their mutations against them. Even if it is the place where he was made into one himself. Vesemir is the only one who stays at Kaer Morhen year-round. He was also the only Witcher to survive the massacre that took place at that enormous castle. Other Witchers drift through between assignments or seek refuge when their name has too much ill-fame attached to it. This winter retreat each year is them tallying up their dead, watching how slowly their numbers are dwindling. There are only a hundred Witchers thereabouts many of whom try to return.

It’s not unusual for Witchers to bring others with them to the winter settlement, but it is rare. Few Witchers have friends or lovers they care to bring into a whole den of mutants. Geralt knows Jaskier would be over the moon at the chance to meet so many monster slayers.

\--

Jaskier knows it is a rare privilege to be invited by Geralt to Kaer Morhen. He is eager to be there, although Geralt flatly tells him there won’t be much excitement.

“What do you mean? I’m going to be living among a whole warren of Witchers! Even ones from different schools, too. Is there a rivalry between schools?” Jaskier muses, curious at the thought. He’s never met another Witcher besides Geralt, which is a shame but not a surprise. What with how few there are left in the world, it makes sense few would cross his path. Besides, he is Geralt’s barker, so he can’t take on rival Witcher clients. It would be unseemly of him.

The trek up Kaer Morhen is grueling. Jaskier tries to not complain too much because he doesn’t want Geralt to withdraw the invitation. Not that he _would_ , but Jaskier won’t take any chances; not when he’s so close. The near-decrepit castle surprises Jaskier only because a quarter of it is still in good repair. Obviously, this is the portion most lived in by the seasonal residents.

“Do builders come and repair this or are Witchers jack-of-all-trades, too?” he can’t resist asking as they reach the top. Geralt smiles at that. Already his friend seems more at ease than Jaskier’s ever seen him--besides in a scalding hot bath--which is saying something for Geralt, who is always on guard and wary.

“Both. Despite the massacre, there are some humans who will work for even a Witcher’s coin. Besides, it’s only in winter when there is a concern for another raid.”

Jaskier nods, looking up at the soaring castle. The structure of Kaer Morhen is enormous and sprawling. He wishes he’d been around when the place was teeming with hundreds of Witchers. He mentally freezes that thought. Then again, perhaps not, seeing as this was a molding place for tormented children to be brutalized and magicked into mutants. He wants to ask Geralt how he feels about coming back here, and most importantly, _why_ does he? But he doesn’t have the chance to ask as they cross the drawbridge, mainly because a slender blond woman comes running out of the castle entrance grinning widely at them. Jaskier is shocked into silence at the answering grin on Geralt’s face. The woman jumps nearly body slamming into Geralt, if such a thing was possible.

Jaskier’s never seen anyone be so _ebullient_ towards a Witcher, or Geralt himself. Geralt sets the woman down, who asks after Geralt before noticing Jaskier and offering him a hug, too. Well, no reason to be rude. He readily accepts the hug.

“Jaskier, this is Olive. Olive, this is Jaskier, a friend, and bard.”

“Hello, Jaskier! It’s good to see fellow humans up here,” Olive chats, beckoning them to come inside the courtyard with her. He nods absentmindedly at that. Though it isn’t out of the realm of possibility for another human to be here, the actual reality is startling.

“Excuse me for being blunt, but I’m surprised to see another person of non-Witcher...persuasion here,” Jaskier responds as they follow her over the drawbridge and towards the stables. Olive grins and laughs as if he’s said something entertaining.

“We aren’t many, and that’s no surprise. I’m only here because I'm a wife to a Witcher,” she answers breezily. Jaskier throws an inquisitive look to Geralt, who only smiles, raising his eyebrows. Geralt’s got some explaining to do, all right.

“I see you have a lute. By chance, are you _the_ famous Jaskier? My husband says in most any town he hears of the prowess of Geralt from your songs.” Olive winks at him, amused. “Careful there, you’ll make the other Witchers feel impotent. A good idea to be a barker for your Witcher, though. I hope you’re both paid handsomely for good jobs.”

He hadn’t expected to be greeted by such a chatty companion. Rather, he’d assumed the Witchers would be gruff and reclusive even with one another.

“Yes, I am the person your husband’s heard about. I do my best to improve this one’s reputation. You can’t imagine what a chore _that_ is,” Jaskier answers, giving Geralt a pointed look. Geralt rolls his eyes in response to the dig.

Olive smiles, gesturing to the stable. “I’ll leave you two here! Geralt, you remember your room. At dinner, we’ll make a rotation of who is making dinner when,” she informs them. They both nod and wave when she waves goodbye before she heads into the castle. Jaskier blinks now that he has a moment to think. Geralt is already heading into the stable to groom and feed Roach for the evening. Other horses are already here, some goats, and even three cows for some reason.

“I didn’t realize Witchers had particular rooms to themselves! And does she mean to say we’ll be cooking? I’m a bard! These hands don’t know how to cook,” he protests. Safe to say he’s always depended upon others to provide him with meals.

“Don’t worry, you won’t starve,” Geralt says from the other side of Roach. “It’s mainly so the hunting and cooking don’t fall on the same few people every day for the whole winter.” Jaskier nods, although he’s not sure what use he’ll be in the kitchen, let alone _hunting_.

Although he’s adventurous, he stays at Geralt’s side when they enter the castle. He’ll have all winter to explore, anyway. He’s ready to eat and sleep right now.

The inside is cavernous and promises to be horribly cold as winter grips them tighter. Already there is a chill dampness in the air this far up the mountainside. The sparse torches do nothing to counter the coolness. The kitchen is built down into the mountainside, keeping the foodstuff cool as much as possible without winter’s ice. Surprises keep coming as it’s revealed the kitchen is crammed full of Witchers, which has the bonus of warming the space with so many bodies jostling around. Only Jaskier and Olive stand out.

It’s lovely to see Geralt chatting with the others. The Witchers swap stories of their travels, monsters they’ve faced, dealings with townsfolk, and magical beings. Jaskier doesn’t bother to eat instead scribbling down the various Witcher’s looks, different medallions, and their stories. Although, he has three to four months to note down interactions like these, he won’t let any opportunity pass him by. By and far the Witchers lean towards men, but there are a couple of women. Jaskier would try his luck with them, but something tells him it’s not a good idea. He’d like to stay alive and not become a eunuch.

“Eat. You’ll have plenty for your songs,” Geralt orders, nudging the now-cold soup towards him.

He’s tempted to ignore Geralt in order to sketch more possible lyrics for this current situation, but decides to just listen for now. The weariness is making his eyelids heavy and scratchy. Besides, the warmth of the room is doing its job of lulling him into exhaustion. Quickly, but with manners, Jaskier gulps down his soup, the empty bowl taken away as soon as he sets it down.

“Good night, everyone. We’ll be down in the morning,” Geralt says to the room at large. Jaskier gives a general wave goodnight to the whole group. He follows Geralt through the twists and turns of the castle, which he knows he’ll have trouble remembering. For all that Jaskier’s a traveling bard, he’s not great with directions. There’s a reason he attaches himself to a traveling companion, whoever that may be. It _may_ be why he first stuck to Geralt when he met him, although the epic tales he’d get from a Witcher played a part too.

The room Geralt enters is unlit and freezing. It’s no surprise there would be no lit fire in the hearth, but still it’s a rather chilly greeting to the bedchamber. He’s extra grateful that Geralt bulked up on blankets before they came up the mountain. At the time, Geralt laying out such enormous sums of money for blankets had taken Jaskier by surprise. Now, it makes complete sense why he did that. Despite the chilly welcome in here, it’s a cozy room with two four-poster beds that have heavy curtains tied back. _Excellent_. A pleasant surprise to see they are up off the floor in a bed frame. He’d honestly thought it would be straw pallets on the hard, stone floor. Besides that, there are two chests at the foot of the beds and a gigantic fireplace in between the two. There are no tapestries on the wall to keep the drafts out, which is unfortunate. It’s a sparse room, but that makes sense given the transient nature of the people who make use of this place.

“This is rather more luxurious than our usual camping in the woods, especially for this castle being the place where the whole...slaughtering everyone event happened.” Without hesitation, he flips onto the closest bed after putting down his lute. Jaskier groans in delight at the fairly comfortable mattress. If he’d known Geralt lived in this much comfort every winter before meeting him, he wonders at how the Witcher can stand to camp in the elements the rest of the year.

“It was fairly destroyed, yes. It’s over the years we’ve slowly rebuilt,” He heard over the clank and jingle of Geralt taking off his armor.

A dip in the bed causes Jaskier to roll into Geralt. He looks up at Geralt in surprise. It’s not that he minds sharing a bed by any means, but there are _two_ in this room.

“We may have been rebuilding over the years, but there’s not much room. Someone else or two will need that other bed.” Geralt grunts. Jaskier wonders how true that is, but he won’t argue. He’s too tired, and besides, he gladly welcomes the warmth of another person in bed.

Jaskier is very grateful that Geralt is sharing the bed with him come the morning. He’s starting to wake up when he notices how _cold_ the tip of his nose is. Meanwhile, the rest of his body is hot to the point of heavy sluggishness. He rubs the sleep grit from his eyes to find Geralt has his arm thrown over his waist, forehead pressed against Jaskier’s left shoulder. A near-painful tenderness squeezes his chest at the sight. For all that Geralt and Witchers are called monsters, as far as Jaskier has experienced, they are still people--just more enhanced and, therefore, misunderstood.

He would love to stay and admire this sight for hours, but his bladder is protesting that he get up now. Carefully, Jaskier slides out from under Geralt’s arm, who sighs and turns away. A look under the bed reveals no chamber pot. It takes a minute to find the close stool. A wonderful surprise is that the close stool has a mechanism for flowing water. A further look around in the rooms adjacent to their chamber finds the bathing room, complete with a large sunken tub in the floor. It seems fastidious habits of cleanliness are shared by many Witchers. Really, it’s a wonder Geralt ever leaves this place with its luxury of running water, close stools, and one of the likely many bathing chambers.

By the time he comes back to the bedchamber, Geralt is awake and cleaning his armor. He puts that chore aside to lead them down to breakfast, pointing out the library as they pass it. The morning and afternoon pass by quick as lightning once Jaskier immerses himself in the library. Olive is there, reading by a roaring fire in the hearth. Jaskier loses himself in the books, collecting as much information as he can on Witchers, the local songs, and the tomes on monsters.

It’s another Witcher named Aqin who comes looking for him at dinner time.

“Bard,” Aqin calls from the doorway. Jaskier looks up, startled to see how fast daylight has faded. “Dinner is on you and Geralt. He’s out hunting, but I’d get down to the kitchen to get ready.” Nerves bubble in Jaskier’s stomach. He’s not known for his culinary skills, and he’d like to not poison a whole warren of Witchers by accident.

“Don’t worry, Jaskier. There’s some dough that should be done rising. You’ll just need to bake the loaves,” Olive speaks up from behind a tome in front of her face. _Oh, thank god for helpful people_.

“Thank you, Olive!” he cheerfully answers. However, he’s not so chipper as he tries to find his way to the kitchen, namely because he gets turned around trying to find the place. The corridors have very few markers to differentiate them, which makes figuring out which one will lead him to the kitchen more difficult. By the time Jaskier finds his way there, the strong metallic scent of blood forewarns Geralt’s presence. Geralt is there with two other Witchers. Jaskier recalls that their names are Leah and Sven.

“We were about to send a search party for you, Jaskier. Thought you might have gotten caught in some rubble,” Leah jokes. It’s slightly unsettling to see such an affable grin on her face, with blood covering her forearms and her face from her work on a partially gutted and skinned deer. Two other deer are dressed and hanging up on tenterhooks. There’s no way to miss the amused smile on Geralt’s face at the exchange.

Jaskier smiles weakly at her. If he’d known there would have been so much blood, he would have worn a different doublet. Thankfully, at that moment Olive joins them, plucking two aprons off a wall hook and tossing one to Jaskier.

“Come on, I’ll show you how to bake bread. We’ll leave our bloody ones to their work.” She grins, inclining her head towards the oven. It’s with enormous relief that dinner preparations go off without a hitch.

Once dinner is served, Olive and her husband, Henrick, sit with Jaskier, while further down the table Geralt is debating something with the other Witchers. It’s good to see the often-silent man so animated. Odd because of its unfamiliarity, but still pleasing.

“So tell me, how did you end up marrying a Witcher? There aren’t many stories of them taking wives or husbands,” Jaskier asks Olive as they tuck into dinner. The question has been on his mind since yesterday.

Henrick shrugs even as he smiles affectionately at his wife. He’s a tall Witcher, nearly dwarfing her, with a defined jaw and freckles dotting every inch of skin that Jaskier can see.

“She pursued me. I came to town to rest, as I had heard the townsfolk in a certain village took a more enlightened view of Witchers. No more had I bought a room in the inn then this one was there with ink, quill, and paper,” Henrick teases, nudging Olive, who laughs, her face gone pink.

“I’m sure he thought I was a clever whore trying a new selling technique,” she says.

This is interesting to hear. Jaskier hasn’t come across many who are interested in Witchers as people, let alone taking down their histories. Most people shrink from Witchers in fright or sullen anger.

“You record Witchers’ history,” Jaskier states.

Olive nods vigorously, eyes sparkling. “Yes! I’ve found Witchers fascinating ever since I’d heard of them as a child. I’d try to talk to any who came through,” Olive answers.

Jaskier can see how she drew in Henrick with her open, frank manner.

“Have you gotten the stories of everyone here?” he asks. It’s good to know how friendly the waters are.

She nods. “I have!” Olive chuckles. “You could certainly create some wonderful songs from this group.” 

A very good thing to hear.

Easy enough to settle back and allow Olive and Henrick to guide the conversation. Jaskier isn’t one to keep quiet by any means, but tonight he’s willing to listen for a change. He’s curious to hear about the married life of a Witcher and of their experiences. All Witchers fight monsters, but they have their different styles and strategies for taking one (or many) down in a fight.

They draw out dinner and talk into the early morning hours, sustained by the ale Leah has found somewhere. Jaskier never looks a gift horse in the mouth; simply takes the tankard offered to him and takes his turn to regale the group at large with the battles Geralt has fought. Geralt is quiet, only smiling and drinking his ale while Jaskier spins his tales. Jaskier has never seen him so content in his life. He loves the look on Geralt.

It’s with the same contentment in his chest that in the small, early morning hours, he’s glad to fall asleep snuggled next to Geralt’s muscular warmth.

\--

Jaskier wakes in the morning to find Geralt already up and gone. He gives a pleased groan as he stretches out to soak up the warmed sheets on Geralt’s side. More room and more time for him to sleep in--perfect.

He and Geralt aren’t attached to the hip by any means, even now, living in a half-destroyed castle together. In fact, it gladdens Jaskier to see Geralt positively chatty with the others. Besides, he knows as the winter months close over the mountain they will be essentially trapped together till late spring. There will be time enough to spend in proximity to Geralt besides when they’re asleep.

The Witchers bid their time to converge upon him to share their stories. It’s in bits and pieces over meals and while doing communal chores that they offer tidbits of their lives over the weeks.

Leah is the first one to approach him, forthright in wanting to share her story, but only if Jaskier will accompany her while she does her share of chores. She won’t sit and be idle to tell her tales when she could be working. This turns out to be going into the forest to chop wood for the hearths that daily need fuel. The things he does in the name of receiving amazing stories.

Leah sets the pace at a stride, the heavy snow seeming to be no obstacle for her. She wears no armor, only her two swords on either hip with a sled for hauling the wood tied to a harness around her chest. The hearths of Kaer Morhen are insatiable beasts when it comes to wood. The ax is slung across her back, and Jaskier does his best to keep up with her.

“Geralt speaks highly of you, Jaskier. No slight thing for our prickly brother. What decided you on singing his praises and not pissing in fear at the sight of those Witcher eyes?” Leah asks, catching hold of him when he stumbles at her side. The boots he’s wearing are slightly too big, as they are not his. Sven had lent Jaskier his boots since none of his outfits or shoes were fit for hunting or snow.

Jaskier waves a hand. “Geralt looked interesting, brooding all alone in a corner. Besides, he was the only one who didn’t insult my music.” Jaskier shrugs. “Anyway, any man who openly carries two swords with yellow irises has many adventures to be told.”

Leah laughs, no doubt amused by his lack of self-preservation. Rightfully, any sane man would distance themselves from the dangers that Witchers pursue in the name of coin. Good thing Jaskier has never spent much time in thinking much about his actions.

“But tell me about yourself. A bard always needs more inspiration for his musical tales,” Jaskier gently prods, this time keeping a hold of Leah’s belt to stay upright in the deep snow.

“Inspiration.” She nods. “Well, I’m sure you’re familiar that Witchers are often orphans or otherwise given up to a Witcher school. They gave me up. Dad became crippled by the peasant’s strenuous life. He was never one to take his chores lightly. He could cheerfully do the work of three men.” Leah shakes her head, gaze distant. “It caught up to him. He couldn’t work, and though our parish did its best to care for him, it was too difficult to care for us little ones.” Thankfully, Jaskier is hanging onto her belt, because he’s staring at her wide-eyed, open-mouthed. He’s not even bothering to watch his feet in this treacherous snow.

“You _and_ your siblings became Witchers?” he whispers as they come to a halt. Leah pulls the ax from her back, at which Jaskier retreats just out of reach of the blade. Leah gives a grimace of a smile. The biting winds numb his face, stinging his eyes.

“A little warren of Witcher siblings. There were six of us big enough that were given over. Two of us became Witchers.” Even if the cold wasn’t sinking into his fingers and toes, this would be no summer story; it chills right to the bone. Jaskier nods, stunned into silence. It’s one thing to know that the mortality rate for creating Witchers was so high; it’s another to hear from a Witcher’s mouth the death of nearly all her siblings from the reshaping.

“How does it...feel to be back here?” he asks, raising his voice over the loud chopping of the ax. Leah hums as she works.

“Awful, in the beginning. I wanted to tear this castle down the first winter back.” This admission surprises Jaskier. He didn’t think the Witchers had done this seasonal migration before the fall of Kaer Morhen. “But there isn’t much choice, is there? Few places want us around for long. A whole group of Witchers would have set off a bloodthirsty mob. This place has always been a refuge. No denying that.”

Indeed, not.

\---

It’s only by the time they start to return to the castle that Jaskier realizes he’s been out in this killing cold for far too long. Jaskier’s legs are wooden, and even though he knows he’s wiggling his toes, he can’t feel them. What scares him the most is the fact he can’t bend his fingers in his gloves. What Jaskier _isn’t_ expecting upon return is to find a worried Geralt. He’s the first one to meet them as they cross the drawbridge.

“Leah, you fool! You’ve been gone too long,” Geralt snarls, shocking Jaskier into slack-jawed staring. For the couple of weeks they’ve been here, Geralt has been nothing but friendly to his fellows. Sure, it’s been an odd thing to see, but this violent swing into anger is startling.

Leah bristles at the tone, frowning at Geralt. “He’s bundled up fine, _Geralt_. Don’t speak to me like some nag. I won’t kill your bard.” Despite the numbness sinking into his body, Jaskier’s heart flutters at being called Geralt’s. How he likes that title.

It reveals the seriousness of his predicament to him when he toddles over to Geralt, not able to bend his knees. Geralt is frowning fiercely, the two lines between his eyebrows are deep set in the skin. He grabs Jaskier’s left wrist before pulling off his glove. Horror and fear seize Jaskier’s stomach at the definite blue tint to his fingertips. Geralt’s face hardens further into frustration, his jaw clenched.

“You are foolish to not remember he is human, Leah. And _you_ , Jaskier, for not keeping aware of the cold.” Geralt gives him no time to respond, squatting down to heft Jaskier over his shoulder. Why is it the only time he’s getting carried is near death or horrific dismemberment? In this case, his fingers and toes are going to die and fall off. Geralt’s concern becomes even more apparent when Geralt sits him in front of the roaring fire in the hearth of their room. It’s not like him to use so much fuel for their room alone.

What furthers Jaskier’s surprise is the nest of blankets and pillows Geralt carefully sets him down into. He gazes up at his Witcher in wonder. For all the grumpy gruffness Geralt often displays, he has a heart that can worry just like anyone else’s.

“How bad is it?” Jaskier asks as he allows Geralt to carefully strip off his wet, cold clothes. Nudity is no new thing between them and, right now, is no cause for excitement. Jaskier can’t help staring at his uncovered hands, a sick breathlessness squeezing his lungs. He’s most terrified for his fingers. There will be no more epic serenades if his fingers fall off. Geralt only slows a moment to gaze at him with those yellow irises.

“It will take some time, but you won’t lose anything.”

Jaskier lets out a shaky breath as Geralt firmly pushes on his shoulders to lie down. The surprise at Geralt’s suddenly-near, naked body joining him nearly overwhelms his relief in hearing that he won’t lose his fingers.

“What are you doing, Geralt? Much as I enjoy a steamy, naked cuddle, I’m preoccupied right now.”

Geralt snorts as he makes himself comfortable on his side. He pulls Jaskier close by his hip and a thrill sizzles low in Jaskier’s stomach. Okay, so maybe he isn’t so close to death as to not be turned on a smidge.

“You need to warm up and a hot bath is too soon. You would go into shock.” He presses Jaskier’s hands to his chest. “Now shut up and stay awake until your hands are normal-looking again.”

Without arguing, Jaskier snuggles close, delighted at the heat of Geralt’s big, muscular body. It’s difficult to stay awake with the warmth of the crackling fire at his back and the solid wall of muscle that is Geralt at his front. The silence is comfortable, and if he dies from hypothermia, this isn’t the worst way to go. He’s already dozing off when Geralt’s fingers in his hair startle him. Jaskier doesn’t move his face from where he’s settled it against Geralt’s hairy chest. He gives a soft, low hum at the firm scalp scratching from Geralt. Oh, this is perfect. He must start risking limbs more often for this sweet, gentle affection. Or maybe Jaskier could just demand it from Geralt. He’s the type of man who seems like he’d enjoy being bossed around in bed.

“Do this more.” Jaskier barely moves his mouth to utter the words, but Geralt’s laugh tells him he’s heard.

“Of course, Jaskier,” Geralt murmurs back.

**Author's Note:**

> Sable my beta edited this for me! They put in the commas and helped me with all my sentence fragments. Here is their ao3 where they write mcu/Stucky works :)  
> https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirsable  
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